


Nothing More

by iviscrit



Series: Scenes from Zaofu [4]
Category: Avatar: Legend of Korra
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-07
Updated: 2015-01-07
Packaged: 2018-03-06 13:14:55
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,911
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3135794
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/iviscrit/pseuds/iviscrit
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He showed her again, pressing his fingers along the length of the area. "There, now you're on it." He winced, inhaling so sharply that his sudden intake of breath moved the loose section of hair framing her face. "Gently, Kuvira."<br/>Kuvira checks out a mild injury, and Baatar is all too happy to let her.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Nothing More

"I'm glad it went well for you," Huan said. With the wind howling outside and temperatures below freezing, the little room felt almost stiflingly warm. It was a small nook just outside the family compound, separate from the house, where many of the younger Zaofu guards and dance troupe members congregated. It had the atmosphere of a coffee shop, with a few inviting couches and minimalist tables spread out, and there was always a hot pot of tea to be found. Mist was creeping over the glass doors and the large window overlooking the grounds from the warmth that too many people in a small space brought, and the overall ambience grew increasingly sleepy as evening approached. "When will you hear back on the patent's approval-?"

"No time soon," Baatar said thoughtfully. "Do you think Dad will be upset when he learns I submitted the blueprint?"

"You could have just asked him."

Baatar sighed. "Except no, I couldn't have."

The sound of the door opening, accompanied by a whoosh of frigid air prompted him to turn around. Kuvira had entered, dressed for the cold from the waist up in a warm coat and scarf, while her legs were clad only in leggings and low boots. Baatar acknowledged her with a nod, as did Huan, and turned back around, rubbing his arms at the sudden chill. Kuvira appeared to be talking to one of her acquaintances in the security force she had recognized upon entering. "I'll actually call you tonight," she was saying. "I'm going to go say hello, I haven't seen him in a while."

The military clack of her heels on the floor contrasted sharply with the sleepy, cozy atmosphere, and Baatar turned again, this time reflexively. He was less quick to return his attention to Huan this time; Kuvira had taken off her coat and scarf, now carrying them over her arm, confirming his suspicions that she had just come from practice. The snug white shirt and dark leggings were sleek and lengthening to the lines of her body, from the scoop of her neckline to the streamlined tights tucked into boots, and it took him until she had reached their table to realize she had referred to Huan earlier. Of course she had, he reminded himself, he crossed paths with her often enough, whereas she rarely saw his more reclusive brother. "How are you?" he said, focusing on her face as she draped her coat over a vacant chair.

"Fine, but I'm freezing," she said. "It's ridculously cold, and I just was sweating it out in a studio for the past two hours. How are you?" she asked Huan, leaning in to greet him. "I don't think I've seen you in weeks, not since I modeled for your last painting."

"I'm well," he said, nodding. "Really pulling out the stops with my next sculpture. It symbolizes the internal strife of the Red Lotus, and how they allowed it to consume them."

"Very nice," Kuvira said, rolling her eyes. "Anything interesting?" Huan scowled, but Baatar knew he wasn't annoyed. Huan and Kuvira had always gotten along, both being arbiters of independent thought and lovers of the arts.

She remained standing throughout her chat with his brother, one hand poised on her hip and the other at the column of her neck, absentmindedly running her hand along the smooth skin, and Baatar found himself observing her in spite of himself. In profile, her waist seemed narrower, exaggerating the curve of both her chest and hip. He had always thought her pretty, even in her guard uniform, but she appeared infinitely more feminine when dressed for a recital or practice. She sat, resting her arm along the back of the chair and her knees towards Huan as he continued to fill her in on his doing. Baatar couldn't decide if he liked it; he felt ignored, but the angle she sat at only improved his view. Her eyes flitted in his direction, nearly catching him staring, and he bowed his head over the papers before him, twirling the pen between his fingers.

"So, what have you been up to?" she asked him, turning to him.

"Nothing special," he said. "I've submitted one of my designs to see if I can patent it.. If it goes through, this will be my first."

"Which, the mecha?" she asked, swiveling in her seat to better face him, "or the flamethrower for the suits?"

"The latter," he said. "We'll see... if it's approved, it'll be a nice surprise for my dad."

She smiled gently. "You didn't tell him."

"How am I supposed to?" he muttered. "They're dismissive of everything. It's always 'you'll have plenty of time, Junior.'"

"I know," Kuvira said softly. "You know what we talked about after Su's meeting with Raiko.. it's frustrating as hell. If it means anything if I were able, I'd be your first investor once the patent is approved, Baatar."

He smiled when she used his name. "You don't even know how it works."

"Does that matter? You do, that's good enough for me." She raised her eyebrows as she observed him in silence for a few moments. "You're favoring your right arm. What happened?"

"Oh, this?" He shrugged. "I started lifting, I got tired of Wei and Wing reminding me that they can bench more. What's the difference between a sprain and a strain? You've had your share of both, I imagine."

She snorted. "Well for a start, a strain is less serious-"

He smiled, rolling his eyes. "I know that much-"

"A sprain would have more swelling, and more muscle fiber damage," she mused. "A strain would just... hurt. A strain is when you've overworked something, so any tears are minor."

He frowned, bending his arm at the elbow and reaching behind his head, looking at her. "Well?"

"Well what?"

"Well, is that normal?"

She sighed. "How far can you usually get it?" She made a sound of disapproval in her throat. "That's terrible, but then I'm biased because I'm surrounded by dancers and we're a more flexible bunch."

He demonstrated with his other arm. "See, the right doesn't go as far now."

She stood, a prick of concern in her eyes. "Do you want me to check if it's swollen?"

He grinned, rubbing the affected arm. "I mean yeah, it's pretty swollen."

"Good effort," she muttered, unamused. She stood, awkwardly maneuvering her way around the bag that occupied at least half of the narrow space between the table and his spot against the wall. It was cramped even when she moved the bag, and she stood with one foot between his, her leg nudging his knees apart. "Alright, let's see the good arm first."

He moved his book from his lap to the table, and for a moment their eyes met. He could see her own sense of mild awkwardness and knew it was mirrored on his face. "Lower- not there, here," he said, guiding her hand to the area. "And it's along this line," he added, tracing the spot with two fingers.

"Got it," she said, cupping the bicep and feeling carefully. "Alright," she said, feeling the length of the area he had mapped out, "let's compare to the bad arm."

He showed her again, pressing his fingers along the length of the area. "There, now you're on it." He winced, inhaling so sharply that his sudden intake of breath moved the loose section of hair framing her face. "Gently, Kuvira."

She furrowed her brow, looking from one arm to the other. "Hmm." Her face was close to his, her eyes lowered as she compared the feel. "I don't think...but it's harder to tell with the shirt..." she trailed off, applying different grips to the affected bicep, feeling for a difference in comparison to the other. "Does this hurt?" He shook his head. "Now?" She probed the area with firm, decisive fingers. "Any shooting pain?"

"No, it doesn't hurt when you touch it," he said, "just when I-"

She pushed the arm back as he spoke, for all the world looking as though she sought to pin it to the wall behind them. "Now?"

"Now, yes," he said. "But pressure doesn't hurt so long as you're gentle."

She did a final check, feeling both at the same time. Baatar had done little to convenience her examination, and he realized with a bit of pleasant discomfort that she was practically astride his thigh. "I don't think it's a sprain," she said dismissively, professional to the end, bending over a bit more to feel along the brachi and deltoid and her chest practically in his face. "I think you're just tight. Don't overwork it," she added, maneuvering her way back to her chair.

As she sat, he noticed Huan had been watching with a mildly interested and confused expression, as had her friend in the security force she had spoken to earlier. Kuvira pretended not to have seen, resuming her work, but Baatar knew she had noticed; her face was pink though impassive, and she had been out of the cold long enough for her color to have returned.

"Kuvira-"

"Baatar-"

They had spoken at the same time, and he flushed as Huan looked at them both, his eyes betraying his amusement this time. "You go first," Baatar said, ignoring his brother.

"I really just stopped to say hello, since I was in the area," she said, pulling on her coat all too soon and snatching up her gym bag. "I think I'll go grab something to eat and head off to my shift.. see you both around," she added, standing up and practically fleeing the room, keeping an admirably straight neutral expression through it all.

Baatar felt his face heating as Huan chuckled quietly. "And what is so funny?" he snapped.

"Your face," Huan replied simply.

"And what about it?" Baatar demanded, crossing his arms even as his shoulder twinged.

"I don't know what's going on with you two, but if she's going to get dinner you can probably still catch up."

Baatar stared. "Nothing is going on with us. Less than nothing is going on."

"Or don't," Huan muttered, ignoring him, returning to a sketch that at once resembled a platypus bear and Vaatu. "Just keep going to recitals and making excuses to take up the rooms overlooking the dance studio and the training grounds... I'm sure she'll notice one day if she hasn't already and find it devastatingly attractive."

Baatar scowled. "You're being hyperbolic. I missed the last recital."

"Because you were working late. I know that you sent flowers."

"Will you stop nosing around in my business?" Baatar groaned. "Do you think she'd mind if I-"

"Stop talking, and go catch up," Huan said flatly, not bothering to look up as Baatar seemed to steel himself before putting on his coat and rushing out into the cold.

"Kuvira!" he called, pleased that she hadn't gotten far. "Wait a moment-"

She turned, wrapping her arms around herself as she waited for him to hurry over. "Damn it, can you walk any slower? I'm freezing..."

He reached her soon enough. "Sorry," he said. "Our conversation was cut short.. would you like to continue it over dinner?"

She was surprised, but he thought he detected a hint of a smile, and he was thankful for the cold wind that forced her to bow her head as they continued to walk. "I'd like nothing more."

FIN

**Author's Note:**

> I had this on the brain since December but never wrote it. I've increased Huan's role in the fam in my chaptered fic Ironclad and as a result I wanted to do a short that featured him. This is based very, very, VERY loosely off a true story- see if you can guess which character I was. :) Hope you liked it!


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